


Life Lessons

by MiraMira



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Performing the Duty is never easy.  It's even harder when Susan's lines of work intersect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Lessons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [possibilityleft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibilityleft/gifts).



> Happy Halloween, possibilityleft! Thank you for giving me so many wonderful prompts to choose from. I hope this story works for you.

“Behave,” Susan ordered her hair as she raised a hand to the door of the stately Park Lane mansion. Not that anyone but the subject of her errand was likely to see her, but she was having enough trouble maintaining her composure without it squirming between her usual workday bun and something much wilder. She took a step forward, ready to pass through–

–And the door opened.

The lady of the house (“lady” was the only appropriate description, despite her current haggard appearance) stood on the other side, frowning thoughtfully and far too perceptively at her. “Sally, isn't it?”

“Susan, ma'am,” said Susan, drawing back her hand as her hair quickly tightened itself into standard professional mode. She took advantage of the other woman's hesitation to sweep into the parlor.

“Yes, that's right. You gave the talk at parents' night on the existence of stupid questions and how to identify them.” The woman's frown deepened. For an instant, she seemed on the verge of providing Susan with more lecture material, before reverting to her previous, wearied state. “It's very kind of you to stop by, but I'm afraid it'll be some time before Timothy's in any condition for lessons. Or social calls.”

“I understand.” Susan pitched her voice into a different, _truer_ resonance. “Please don't trouble yourself. It'll just be a moment, and you won't even realize I'm here.”

“Of course,” Timothy's mother murmured, already staring at the door as though unsure why it was open. Susan slipped away and up the stairs to Timothy's bedroom.

Timothy lay in bed, so listless it was hard to tell at first whether he was asleep. Although never the most physically robust of her students, he seemed to have shrunk in the weeks since she had last seen him, with angry red sores setting off the pallor of his skin. At her approach, he bolted upright, beaming as recognition dawned. “Miss Susan!”

Susan willed herself to smile back, hoping the result didn't bear too much of a resemblance to her grandfather. “Hello, Timothy.”

“You're here! Brilliant! I don't remember how long it's been since I had visitors. At least, none that I've been awake for.” A sudden suspicion crossed his face. “You didn't come to make sure I catch up on homework, did you?”

“No.” She reached into her handbag, deeper than should have been possible, and pulled from it a sword with edges that glowed faintly blue. “I'm afraid that's not why I'm here.”

Timothy goggled at the sword. Before she could offer an explanation, his next words told her that the bewildered look in his eyes was not confusion at its purpose. “But...the doctor said...”

“What _did_ he say?” asked Susan, in her best schoolteacher tone.

“He...he...” Timothy faltered, but only for an instant. “He said it was rare for an illness like this to be serious, and that time would tell, and a strong boy like me stood every chance of bouncing back, and...” 

“Do you remember our lesson on how to tell the difference between what people say and what they mean?” She barely bothered to wait for confirmation. Timothy had been particularly enamored of the concept, to the point that Susan was forced to move her follow-up lecture on the importance of tact forward by a week. “How did he _look_ , Timothy?”

Her pupil's expression was all the answer she needed. He seemed to realize it as well, quickly shifting tactics. “But Miss Susan, I'm only nine.”

“I know.”

A flash of betrayal at her calm acknowledgment of this statement distorted his features, before he rallied and pressed on. “I'm going to finish school, and invent a flying machine, and see parts of the Disc no one else has seen, and...well, I haven't thought the rest out yet.” His shoulders began to shake. “I shouldn't need...It's not _time_.”

“I'm afraid it is.” Reaching into her handbag again, she produced a small hourglass on a chain and presented it solemnly to Timothy for inspection. 

Timothy stared at the timer with its few remaining grains of sand, then back up at her as his face slowly crumpled. “Miss Susan, don't you _like_ me?”

She'd sworn she wouldn't cry. Nonetheless, her hair broke free of its remaining bonds, ready to sweep any treasonous tears from her cheeks. “Oh, Timothy. Of course I do.” She let go of the sword and clasped his hand in hers. “But it's not about liking. My grandfather, the _real_ Death, thinks life is the most marvelous thing in the universe. But life can't be life without death. He had to remember that when he came for my parents, and someday, he'll do the same for me.”

“Someday?” Timothy glanced from her to the timer again, curiosity temporarily overcoming anguish. “Don't you know?”

“No. But I promise you this much – I won't think it's time, either.” She considered Lobsang for a second, but realized that point of clarification would provide precious little comfort. Besides, even he couldn't make it any less true.

“But you'll still go?”

Susan nodded.

Timothy wiped his eyes and gave one last sniffle, then sat up straight and faced her with chin held high. “So what do I do now?”

The room began to brighten. Susan picked up the sword in one hand, while continuing to clasp Timothy's in the other. “Just keep holding my hand.”

“After that, I mean?” asked Timothy, voice already beginning to fade.

“That, I can't tell you.” She smiled, and this time felt no strain. “Someday, you'll have to teach me.”


End file.
